Chapter 73: Chapter 73

The surroundings have already turned dark when I finally look around. However, the streetlamps nearby reflect some shreds of silver light, illuminating the immense darkness that swallows my place.

I had been drowning in my miseries, slumping in the corner with my back on the wall. Who knows I'd end up like this? I have motivated thousands of brokenhearted, given hope to millions. Yet I am even finding it hard to drag my body inside the house.

A moment later, my phone rings. I glance at the screen to see the caller's name, and I see Ara's.

"What the hell, Zed?! My finger is already getting numb from pressing on your doorbell. Where are you?"

"Just here on the terrace."

"I'm also here outside. Open the gate!"

"No. Call Ella and ask for the code," I tell her. I'm just too lazy to get up and open the door for her. I toss back the phone, and I'm glad that Ara seems to cooperate.

I close my eyes, leaning on the hard contour of the brick wall. Soon, the memories of my father come flooding into my mind…

______

"Zedrick, have you sent the money to your brother?" He was on the sofa, spreading his arms wide on the backrest. He had always addressed his son as my little brother even if he had never introduced him to us.

I pulled out my wallet from my back pocket and picked up a rectangular sheet of paper. I fixed my gaze at the sheet, committing the foundation's name that had received the remittance into my memory.

The Little Heart

C/O Happy Child Foundation

003440215896

"Are you sure my brother can receive that?" I had asked this question a thousand times, but his answer was still the same.

"The Healing Heart" is your brother's pseudo name. The foundation is naming him that for confidentiality's sake."

"But why do you have to put him in a foundation when he has you…us?" My dad glanced at my mother, quietly sitting beside him, sipping her tea. He looked helpless each time I pestered him with questions about my ghost brother.

"It's complicated, Zed. We're doing this for his own good."

"For his own good? How can it be for his own good when he's alone there? He could have been happier if he's with us because we are his family."

"You don't understand, Zed."

"Because you don't make me understand."

My mother could no longer bear to hear our argument. I had been plaguing my dad lately by asking questions about my brother ever since bringing food to our table became a daily challenge. He rather had us famished than miss his monthly obligation in sending support to my brother.

Finally, she looked up and gestured for me to come over. I slowly walked toward her and sat next to her.

"Son, sometimes, keeping things confidential is more beneficial than knowing them. Your father's situation is complicated, and so is your half-brother's mother."

"Ma," I held her arm, "please trust me. I'm already a grown-up. I promise to keep whatever secrets you have. I'm your son, and you both are everything to me. I will never put this family at risk by disclosing whatever secrets you may have."

My mom glanced at my father, and the latter nodded.

"Son, your father had sinned against a mafia princess, the coming donna of a famous syndicate leader. You maybe have some ideas on how they live their lives. And you know that confidentiality is always their top rule," she began to explain.

"They first met when your father did an art exhibit, and since then, they met secretly. To cut the story short, she conceived your half-brother."

I felt my breathing get stuck in my throat. I couldn't imagine the danger my father had put his life into. I glanced at him and saw him wincing in pain. But he didn't look at my mother but stared in the distance.

"To hide her pregnancy, she pretended to study arts abroad. And when she gave birth to your brother, she left him in the care of a friend who ran the "Happy Child Foundation."

"Was she exposed?" I looked at her, to my father, then back to her. My father was then closing his eyes, but glints of bitterness smeared his facial expression.

"Your dad couldn't even describe the hell she went through. But she has succeeded in hiding him in that foundation where she could visit frequently. And that is the reason your dad couldn't get him out."

"Do you at least have a photo of him?"

She shook her head and said, "No. It has been your father's greatest wound. He knows his son is out there, but he couldn't even get there."

"What is her name?" I asked her, hoping I could find my brother's mother on the internet. Or anywhere.

She laughed mirthlessly. "Your father didn't even know her real name. He just called her Heart because she introduced herself as "Crushed Heart."

_____

"Zed, are you crying?" Ara's shrill voice disrupted my thoughts. She stands in front of me, grimacing at my disheveled look.

I immediately wipe away the tears that I don't realize have been flowing down the side of my face. The sense of melancholy has started creeping inside me again, bringing back the memories of my late parents. I shouldn't have been alone if I know who my brother is. But unfortunately, his identity is also taboo. And I couldn't even start imagining the loneliness he was suffering.

"Ara, what the hell! You're cutting off my imagination."

"Who were you thinking just now? Is it Ella or Yen?"

"Silly. Aren't there any other people I can think of?"

"Isn't it obvious?" she snickers, crossing her arms across her chest.

I heave out a sigh. I just feel later that Ara is already squatting beside me. "Who are you thinking?"

"My family."

"What?!" I'm not looking at Ara, but I can imagine her saucer-like eyes.

"Surprised? What do you think of me? Born out of a bamboo shoot?"

"Really, Zed? You have never mentioned your family."

I glance at her sideways and scoff. She's right; I never talked about my family.

"I have a brother whom I have never met. Or shall we say, not allowed to meet."

Ara's eyes furrowed, throwing me a confused look. She was sitting beside me, but she was already squatting across from me in less than five seconds. This girl is indeed so silly!

"Fast, you're killing me with your cliffhangers."

"To make him feel loved, dad would always paint a portrait of him and my brother. Then, he sent them as gifts during important dates."

"But one time, I saw that painting displayed at an auction. I defeated the highest bidder and ran away with that painting."